He was off sick for a year, well actually, he just stayed at
home and they urged him to take early retirement.

Well, I’m up for that alright, were his very words and I
don’t blame him.

Karl deserves it, he’s a great guy.

I’d do the same, if I were in his shoes.

When I retired, God! what a mess that was.

The grief they gave me – you wouldn’t believe it, if I told
you.

If I hadn’t known exactly how things are done in these
places, they would never have released me.

And to think it was me who showed them the ropes.

Even though my health was rockbottom.

I was in such a state with my back that I couldn’t even crawl
out of bed.

Therapies and massages were no help at all.

Except for the ones in Thailand but the bastards don’t pay
for them, do they.

Well, there was no way I could go back to work.

So what did they do? They tried to screw me over with my
pension, even though I’d worked by butt off, never taking a day off sick, but these paper pushers don’t give a damn about that.

I’d put in almost forty years of service because we started
working at fourteen, not like these days where kids study till they’re thirty and cause trouble whilst sponging off the state.

In our day, it was a totally different ball game.

And I pretty much taught those people how to walk.

It’s the politicians and crap civil servants of all people
who waste millions and then deny the little man on the street – the little man being me – what’s rightfully his.

But that’s the way they do things in Austria these
days.

That’s what I said to Karl.

Twice, I had to take my case to the labor court – yes, twice,
before getting what was rightfully mine.

I said to Karl back then, I said if Georgie wants to retire,
then retire he will.

And that’s exactly what I did.

Some days, I couldn’t even stand up straight, that’s how
painful my back was.

I can’t abide that word lumbago any more.

This top physician wanted to prescribe me a break at a spa
resort but what good would that do?

If my body’s in pieces after forty long years of hard slog, I
certainly don’t want to go to a spa.

I want retirement, that’s what I want.

I’m not one of those spongers who go on a four-week break
every year and have it paid for by Joe Public.

If it were down to me, I’d abolish these spa trips in the
blink of an eye.

Most people only go there to have a fling anyway.

That’s the only reason they have these spa treatments.

It makes me think of the stories Karl used to tell me about
his colleagues going off to the best spa resorts and being treated like royalty every year.

But it’s no use thinking about it.

I only just made it to the end of my stint and then they
mistreat me like that, even though I had paid my way all my life.

But that’s Austria for you.

The hard workers are always the losers, just like me.

I don’t want any favors but I certainly want what I’m
entitled to.

Once, when I went to the pension office, I overhead one of
those paper-pushing pricks mumbling to one of his colleagues: Look, here comes old lumbago.

To think it was me who showed them the ropes.

I demanded an apology from the top.

And I got one too.

And if I hadn’t got an apology, I’d have gone to the
press.

The press laps up stories like that.

Karl was right all along – he said, he didn’t know what their
problem was because you can’t prove lumbago, can you!

It’s like having a headache.

If I say I’ve got lumbago, the doctors can stare holes into
the x-rays but they’ll never find it.

I’m the perfect example of that.

Down at the pension office, no-one ever called me lumbago
after that.

They kept their mouths tightly shut and gave me my
pension.

If they hadn’t given me my pension, they’d have had it
coming.

I swore to them they’d get it.

These civil servants, who live off my taxes, tried to tell me
whether I have lumbago or not.

I don’t want to think about it.

Luckily, I’m the kind of guy who can stand up for
himself.

If you can’t do that, then you’ll always be a loser in this
country.

Anyway, I got my retirement when I wanted it.

They can’t tell me what to do, not me, Judge Georgie.

But there’s no sense in wasting another second thinking about
my pension.

I’ve been retired for two years now.

So what’s the point in getting uptight about it now.

I should be thankful – touch wood – that I’m still in pretty
good health.

I still have days though where I can’t stand up
straight.

But Thank God that doesn’t happen as often as it used
to.

4

I often think you know: What would I do
without my garden!

When I feel really low, the garden’s the best
distraction in the world.

In spite of those god-damn slugs.

Karl always laughs about it.

He says everyone has his poison – some go and
watch the game, others drown themselves in drink, some dash like madmen up hill and down dale and you, you get excited over your cabbages.

That’s until my nosy neighbor pops his head
over the fence and asks: Are the slugs eating everything again?

To think of all the tricks I’ve used to get
rid of this slimy slug invasion.

But you know, these slugs have only been
around for a relatively short while.

We didn’t have them years ago.

They come over from Russia or somewhere round
there.

A pure import.

It’s a complete and utter sabotage of our
gardens.

By them, the Russian mafia.

They’ll be laughing in their sleeves by
now.

No doubt, there’s a method, a scheme behind
it all.

They can’t be trusted, them from over
there.

I’ve heard of this Indian species of duck
that would be all over the slugs in minutes, but they don’t half make a mess.

Besides which, who knows how many Indians I’d
need because they can’t eat just slugs.

Not in those quantities anyway.

And then if we did have those Indian things
in our garden who knows where it would lead.

When it comes to Indians you can’t be sure of
anything because they just don’t fit in.

So after the Russians, we’d be putting up
with the Indians from India.

For a while, I sprinkled salt all over
them.

They shriveled up alright but the trouble
was, I’d have needed my own private salt mine to annihilate them every day.

What I’d like to know is where they all come
from.

They must reproduce like
turbo-rabbits.

The problem is they have no natural predators
to keep them in check.

I also went through a phase where I impaled
them all on an iron rod and cut them in two with my secateurs.

It wasn’t pleasant to say the least,
especially with all that slime squirting out left, right and center.

Once, I even mounted a sharp wedge on the
bottom of an old hiking boot and slaughtered them that way.

But that didn’t really work very well because
they’re sticky and so I had trouble shaking them off the sole of my boot.

Now I pick them up with my BBQ tongs every
day and toss them by the sack-load into the canal.

You’ve got to keep at it.

Otherwise it’s a losing battle.

Karl once said to me, you know what, someone
needs to invent something for that.

You could earn big bucks if you invented
something like that.

If you invented something, you could become a
millionaire.

I think all the slugs in Austria should be
collected and sent back to the Russian mafia.

Back to where they came from.

Then THEY would have to deal with all the
rubbish they’ve dumped on us.

5

There was a time when my wife would tell me
off for comparing this foreign vermin to the slugs in my garden…

Today though, she’s come round to my way of
thinking…

I did warn her right at the start, I warned
her that she shouldn’t even entertain the thought, because I knew exactly what would happen.

But my wife would always attack me when I
said the Kebab Munchers were invading our country like the Russian slime that was taking over my garden.

Everyone needs people around them, my wife
would say.

But not filth like that, I’d reply…

Anyway, I didn’t really want to get involved
because her auntie has nothing to do with me and so I don’t care whether Kebab Munchers live in the same place as her. What’s it to me.

Even Karl said he didn’t understand my
wife.

But what am I supposed to do, after all,
she’s a grown woman.

I certainly wouldn’t let any of those mafia
wise guys into my home.

They’re human beings too, my wife
insisted.

They were driven from their homes by war, we
have to help them.

And anyway, their rooms are in the cellar and
they have a separate entrance.

But then she realized all right, then she saw
what happened.

It’s not as though I didn’t tell her.

They had parties in the garden, with music
blaring out while their kids terrorized the neighborhood…

None of them lifted a finger by going to
work.

They all sponge off the state.

Child-care allowance.

But we’ve got it to spare, haven’t we.
Pah.

They should never have let the Russians set
foot in our country.

I mean, what have they got to do with
us?

Let them shoot at each other if that’s what
they want, but that’s their problem not ours!

All we want is a little peace and
quiet.

Being nice doesn’t get you anywhere in
life.

I know what I’m talking about.

I’ve seen it all.

My wife was being a bit simple there.

But thankfully she’s wised up now.

She’s seen where it leads.

She gives them a home, a roof over their
heads, and how do they thank her? With a police complaint.

We’ve got to the point in Austria where they
get all sorts of state support.

But it’s hardly surprising when you look at
our government, it’s full of Kebab Munchers.

Austrians count for nothing in this country
anymore.

If things carry on the way they are, we
Austrians will end up being the foreigners in our own country.

I told my wife it’s not worth it for the sake
of a few shillings.

In Austria, you’ve got to tread carefully, as
the press lap up stories like ours, mutating you into an exploiter when all you were doing was trying to help.

I’ve even had nightmares about the
headlines.

Exorbitant rents for cellar rooms!!!
Etc.

Our press gurus don’t care much for the
truth.

All they’re interested in is headlines,
sensations and filth.

They’re all manipulated.

We all know who’s behind it.

The capital all comes from abroad.

And it doesn’t take much guessing to know
what that means.

The truth doesn’t interest anyone.

But what’s the point in getting worked up
about it.

Karl’s quip is right by the way.

He always says that the comparative and
superlative of truth is: Truth – lie – press.

He’s hit the nail on the head there.

I blame the police complaint against my wife
on the relatives.

Especially, the prodigious stepson.

Yes, another fine specimen of a loser that
should be swept out of the country with the Russians.

He’s never made an effort with his step
mother.

A sprog from the first marriage of my wife’s
uncle.

If it wasn’t for my wife, her aunt wouldn’t
receive any help for weeks on end.

When he does appear out of the blue, all he
wants is money.

In the past, when she was still healthy, she
would often throw him out.

Sometimes he’d even steal from her.

He was a real waste of space, a
good-for-nothing.

As long as I can remember, he’s never had a
steady job.

He’s even been in jail a few times.

He has a few kids dotted about the country,
but probably doesn’t support them.

He’s the perfect example of what happens to a
kid whose parents want too much of the best for him.

He always got everything he wanted.

Money was never an issue.

And that was his downfall.

This guy believed his life would always be
like that.

My wife would throw him out when he visited
her aunt just to sponge off her.

You couldn’t trust him as far as you could
spit.

He even pocketed his uncle’s gold
watch.

Well, it certainly wasn’t there after he’d
left.

That’s why my wife hid the savings away from
him.

At least, they’re safe here, away from that
lay-about’s prying eyes.

If he’d got his grubby little hands on them,
he’d have spent all the money in minutes.

He’s a champion when it comes to blowing
cash.

Once he squandered tens of thousands in a
single night.

As soon as he’s got a dime to spare, he
invites everyone out.

Then he pays for round after round because he
wants to be the centre of attention.

He would’ve wasted the dough from the company
sale in a blink of an eye.

At least, his share of it.

But it’s no wonder I suppose, it’s easy to
waste what you haven’t worked hard for.

As far as I know, I think he’s on welfare
now.

But you can’t buy many rounds on
welfare.

You can go out for three and then you’re
skint again.

What a cheek it is that people like that are
entitled to welfare.

If it were up to me …

Why can’t a man like that get a job?

Just because he thinks it’s beneath him, the
state has to foot the bill.

All I can say is “Good night Austria”.

I don’t know what to say.

I mean the money’s got to come from
somewhere.

And of course, it comes from us because
stupid idiots like me worked hard to pay for it all.

And then what happens? We get punished for
it.

When I think that I clocked up forty years of
hard work, I reckon I must be some kind of klutz.

Our railway workers retire in their early
fifties, sit back and laugh at everyone else.

They only worked there so they could rest and
still have enough energy for their cowboy jobs on the side.

So don’t come talking to me about my
retirement.

I’ve done my share.

It sickens me to think of all the money
that’s smuggled abroad, such as swindled child support and whatever else there is.

When I look at that aunt’s boot neck of a boy
who’s never done an honest day’s work in his life and enjoys all the support that’s out there: exemptions, free telephone, free TV, even a free room courtesy of the state.

It makes me sick.

And yet, this kid was given every opportunity
imaginable.

Opportunities, that most would bend over
backwards to receive.

We had to work hard for everything we
got.

Some people think that’s beneath them.

And there seem to be more and more of them
every day.

Anyone who goes looking for a job in Austria
will find one.

You mustn’t think you’re too precious to
work, that’s all.

Of course, not everyone’s cut out to be a
CEO.

But there’s nothing wrong with working in a
hotel.

Even if you’re just washing dishes.

That’s still better than nothing.

But we Austrians don’t want to.

We think we’re above that sort of
thing.

And that’s why there are so many Russians in
our country.

But they only wash dishes until they’re
entitled to unemployment benefit and as soon as that time comes they don’t lift a finger anymore.

And then, they bring the rest of their family
over.

If things carry on the way they are, it won’t
be long before we don’t have any say anyway.

It will be the others who have it.

That’s already the way it is in
Vienna.

Just look at the government.

It’s full of foreign names.

The Viennese defended themselves against
three sieges by the Turks.

And then during the fourth, they go and cave
in.

Just go to the Naschmarkt and see what’s
going on there.

You won’t find anything like it, not even in
Istanbul.

That’s how extreme it is.

Something has to be done about it.

Someone’s got to come down hard on
them.

By them, I mean the Russians and the welfare
scroungers.

It can’t go on like this.

Something should’ve been done years
ago.

Especially those unemployed spongers who take
the welfare payments, work quietly on the side and pocket the cash.

I just have to look around me.

It’s all plain to see.

You can’t fool me.

But then, what incentives are there for
unemployed people to look for work.

As things stand, they’d be stupid to get a
job, yes stupid.

And this is where the state needs to clamp
down.

What can I, the man on the street, do about
it?

Karl says he’d give them what-for.

He’d cart all the welfare fraudsters and scum
off to a work camp.

I mean what else can you do with hobos like
that?

A quick trip to the train station and you’ve
seen it all, I tell you.

I mean you’re not doing these people any
favors.

At least at a work camp more time would be
invested in those losers.

If anything, they’d get used to working again
and could be reintroduced to society.

As things stand at the moment, they’ll be
receiving state handouts till the end of their days.

We can’t afford it all in the long
run.

Who’s going to foot the bill?

Even my dad used to say that Adolf may have
made mistakes along the way but where there’s light, there’s shadow.

If it wasn’t for Adolf, we wouldn’t be as
well off as we are today, my dad always used to say.

And he was right.

My dad never spoke much about the war.

He was a quiet kind of guy.

On the odd occasion he’d say they’re taking
the easy way out by heaping all the blame on Adolf.

You’ve got to look at the circumstances close
up.

Adolf was a kind of force of nature who
descended upon the country.

There’s nothing you can do about that.

The Resistance stories always made my dad
laugh.

When they pin you against the wall, your
resistance evaporates, my dad always used to say.

The people who talk of Resistance today would
have been the first in those days to follow the party line like sheep.

Kreisky was another force of nature in the
seventies.

Of course, Kreisky wasn’t quite like
Adolf.

There was no way the man on the street could
get away from Kreisky.

I’m speaking here from experience.

At the time, I even had a stretch in the
party.

It wasn’t long before I got an
apartment.

And my son got a job at the municipality just
like me.

And it wasn’t long before he got a cheap
apartment as well.

Kreisky was a force of nature – at least in
his early years.

But what came after Kreisky?

All I can say to that is: Good night
Austria.

Karl says that the rabble clinging to Kreisky
should’ve been chased out the country.

Then things would look very different
today.

It was the same with Adolf.

Adolf was alright, but look at his
followers.

Just the same as Kreisky.

These Kreiskyites handed out the jobs, the
apartments and the money to each other.

Just as they needed it.

As soon as I realized what was going on I
left the party.

I didn’t want to have anything to do with
it.

To be involved with people who just cherry
pick what they wanted wasn’t my thing.

I’m not that kind of guy.

It didn’t take me long to realize what was
going on.

It wasn’t about honesty and ideals, it was
about jobs, apartments and money.

That’s why joining was a big mistake.

Karl said to me that he’d known the Red
Falcons weren’t the right people for me to mix with.

You get caught up and lost in the cogs of
that big machine, he said.

Exactly, I said.

Moments of a biography in which Giorgio Voghera puts in several appearances.

Set in Trieste, Rome, Vienna, Zirl and Lowell Massachusetts - a promenade through the world of a
literature whose aim is not the story but the narrative.